


The Drum Beats Out Of Time

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Married Couple, Season/Series 03, Sexual Content, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-29
Updated: 2009-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set from just after Collaborators all the way to just after Torn, this is to explain how Sam ended up having one-night-stands with Kara in Unfinished Business. Not the best time of their relationship, but not hopeless either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drum Beats Out Of Time

Sam had stopped cursing the day he met Kara Thrace some time ago. The Salpica was quiet, isolated, and he didn’t quite disappear so much as get absorbed. Pyramid was so far in his past, he didn’t know quite how to deal with the big eyes and trembling voices of young children approaching him in the halls. “Are you Mr. Anders?”

“Yeah, yeah I am,” he’d answer, trying to remember how to hide the weariness and put on his publicity face. It had been almost the first thing to go, even if somewhere along the line it had morphed into the face of a leader.

“Could you—could you sign this?” one asked, all dirt smudged face and patched elbows, and hesitantly handed him a pyramid ball held together with love.

Sam had shaken his head with a quiet smile, taking the pen and writing out his name. Even when the world was ended, what he did still meant something to someone. Not the legacy he had striven for, but it would do for now.

“There a pyramid court I don’t know about?” he asked as he handed the ball back.

“Not really,” said the one boy who could speak, grinning nervously. “We just pretend on D deck.”

Sam nodded to himself, and the boys scattered with bright faces and quick whispers. And he went on to his work, and some of his colleagues were parents who thanked him, and he found the tension disappearing. Kara Thrace did not fill his entire life.

ooo

Day by day, and they almost forgot who he had been. So did he. No one had been part of the resistance on this ship, and those who had settled on the planet at all didn’t talk about it at first. When they did, when Sam sat with them around the warm stove in some dim deck at “night”, it was about friends and peace and home and it was never really about New Caprica but rather the old.

He worked by day, and when he caught sight of his tattoo as he cleaned himself up in the evening, he bit back the bitterness and walked to D deck. The court was no more than rabbit cages on poles and duct tape, but the ball was real, and what mattered was the play. There were six of the kids, three boys and three girls, and he was their opposing team all by himself that night. It was more than he needed, and he realized for the first time that unlike the adults in the fleet, they weren’t afraid of dying—they were afraid of life without meaning or ending. This was just pyramid, but he was there with them, willingly, and it meant enough to them that he came back again and again.

Six against one—he still beat them when he felt that it would spur them to further challenge, laughing at their protests that he was holding the ball too high. He would make it up in the next game, let them tackle him and get all tangled up in the grapple. When they weren’t looking, sometimes he ruffled their hair and forgot to be their mortal enemy Samuel T. Anders.

Sleeping on a flat pallet, eating simple crackers, sampling all the bad kinds of moonshine, working wherever manual labor was needed on the ship, and playing pyramid with a bunch of kids who were the future of the human race. He fell asleep once by the stove, and woke to the smell of burning fabric and a hole burned straight through his pyramid jacket. It was time to get rid of it anyway, so he stuffed it by the corner of his pallet and didn’t even notice when it disappeared.

He got an apology later, from the newly dubbed Salpica Rabbiducks and their roughly sewn team patches from salvaged sleeves, but he just laughed and mocked the name, feeling strangely honored that his jacket would go this far. The patches didn’t help the young team’s game for the first week, but Sam never underestimated the power of morale, and started to fully enjoy himself when he actually had to think about his game strategy. Sometimes he didn’t even enjoy it, but it was more about what they needed anyway.

Worn out from giving all of himself to the kids and his work, he didn’t have time to think about his empty bed. The bed that was only supposed to be empty until he could end the occupation on New Caprica, that had held two for a few short days before he ended up here. Patience had been something he had learned by necessity, and frustration followed once he realized it had been useless. He told himself it was his fault for marrying her knowingly, but it was a veiled strike at her for taking his heart.

He couldn’t keep it up anymore, eventually. He’d adjusted too well to having her as a part of him, missing her when she was out of reach, and Kara Thrace was now essential to Sam Anders. But what that meant was that he now had to learn to live as someone who wasn’t Sam Anders. He gritted his teeth, and thought about kids and pyramid.

ooo

Lights were mostly out as he left D deck, warm and not as worn as usual—it had been an easy game. The corridors were close, dim, and he was one turn away from the curtained alcove that held his pallet.

An apparition was in his way, and he jerked his head up in surprise. Except, it couldn’t be, because this wasn’t the Kara he would have remembered. Hair shorter than he’d ever seen, loose military tanks instead of civilian clothes, and eyes full of emotions that grew only more complex the deeper he looked. She was real, and he had forgotten just how much he wanted her.

“How’d you find me here?” he asked, voice low in the near-silence. Pointless words.

She stood with her eyes holding his from beneath fierce bangs, brow furrowed. “I shouldn’t have left you,” she said, words coming painfully. “I—I was a big frakking idiot, okay?”

She was inching closer to him, and all he could do was drink in her eyes.

“Okay?” her question was hesitant, and there was a desperation he couldn’t quite place.

“Okay,” he breathed, and then she was in his space, reading the want in his face.

“I need you,” she murmured, voice not quite whole and brow still furrowed, and he barely had time to comprehend, start to reach for her without thinking why, before she was in his arms and devouring his mouth with a kiss.

He didn’t understand her desperation, not yet, because he wasn’t trying. She didn’t take it slow, slamming into him with mouth not so much open to him as much as conquering him.

And then—her arms at his shoulder-blades, pulling him down, breasts pressed through all the layers against his chest. He couldn’t think, her tongue tangling with his in a hot, tangy mess, and his arms squeezed her close so that she couldn’t just disappear on him again.

Her murmurs were almost grunts already as she found her pleasure, biting lightly at his mouth when he wasn’t kissing back hard enough. It had been five months for him, and he’d never asked—but it felt like it had been five months for her. He didn’t see time, all he saw was her, all he felt was her. And if he worshiped every part of her, maybe she would know that she was wholly loved. Breathless, he pulled her closer, scraping his mouth down her jawline and sucking at her neck, feeling her arch into him and groan.

She was pushing him against the wall, hands finding his belt as he continued to nuzzle, nip, at where the tanks curved against her neck. Her hair was short enough to be out of the way.

“No, no,” he half-whispered, the air so thick that he could almost hear their rapid heartbeats. She was still pressed close to him, and he remembered every curve. One arm curved tightly around her waist, the other fumbled behind him for the corner.

She wasn’t content, and twisted her fingers in his hair, pulling his head back down to claim his mouth with hungry desperation. Desperation. He still didn’t understand, not really. With one of his hands guiding him, and the other holding her, he stumbled backwards into his curtain. She seemed to get the picture, and her hands had his belt dropping just as he stepped backwards.

His heel caught on the edge of his pallet, and then they were collapsing backwards onto his bed. She was on top, crushing him for just a moment, then pulling herself up to get her frantic fingers where his belt had been. He took the brief moment to look at her face, reading guilt and desire and something wounding her deep, but then her eyes met his for that brief moment and he only saw the fiery hunger—and it was for him.

Any pause would be a mistake this time. He was slipping out of his clothes faster than she could help with, and she was peeling off the tanks...and he couldn’t quite remember what happened before there were no barriers, her breast was in his mouth and she was sliding down onto him with a soft groan. He was too hard, too ready for this, and his jaw tightened, biting at her nipple. She rocked against him, firm and fast already, pressing them against the pallet that was really too thin.

What was he doing here? What was she doing here? It was too fast for a dream. It was too deep, pushing both of them in the direction of the brink. Maybe that was the only point. His mouth left her breast and trailed up, planting his lips firmly against her collarbone and neck in between fast breaths. She leaned her chin on his shoulder, hair tickling his ear, grunts ever more rapid as she rode him. His hands had nothing to do but cup her buttocks closer to him with every stroke.

He could feel her jaw pressed against his neck and shoulder, tensed with every short, fast breath. Little noises, moans and grunts, escaped her throat, vibrating through him. But this wasn’t the soft passion he remembered, where she giggled before he reduced her to breathy squeaks—this was something he couldn’t place.

She wouldn’t look at him and didn’t say anything, just held on as they pounded into each other. There was only their own movement as the bed refused to give and relieved no pressure. So much built up tension, so much arousal pressing for release, so much stress that the sounds of their pleasure approached pain. He closed his eyes and squeezed her to him, drowning in her with every jerk of his hips.

Breathing turned into panting with her, and his own hissed through clenched teeth as he tried to keep a hold of himself. This was his wife, Kara, the woman he couldn’t stop loving, and she was here in his arms and needing him. So why did it feel like something rougher, faster? Why did she leave him no other option?

She didn’t pander to him, and he could feel her rising tension as she changed the pace, grinding down at the speed of their racing hearts. Her breasts bounced against his chest, her chin digging into his shoulder as they both came close.

But she was closer, and pushed herself onto him with maddening force and speed, and he couldn’t hold himself up and they were falling backwards. He pulled up before the pillow met his head, hand jerking out to push off the bed and press himself against her as he felt the end. She jerked, jaw clenching tighter, and then an aching cry left her throat as she shook against him, overcome at last.

The tension spasmed out of her, and she started to collapse into him, but the waves of release pushed him too far. He thrust up into her, once, twice, again, as she melted around him, and then he lost the both of them in a cloud of heat and passion. He was lost in her.

They were both shaking, just a little, as he finally collapsed back onto the thin pillow, blankets pushed far out of reach by their mad grinding. She moved just a little, slipping off of him and pushing herself up a little. But her strength was gone and she lay back on his chest. As their breathing slowed, almost equalizing, his arm came limply to curl around her back as she covered his body with hers, using him as a warmer alternative to the near-cold bed. Her cheek pressed on his chest and her hair lay slightly damp near his neck.

He could think again, and he almost understood. New Caprica wasn’t over, not for her. It might never be over, no matter what he hoped, and the world might always be in different colors. But she misjudged just what she saw in him, and this was both apology and remedy—he wouldn’t get anything more than this. Kara moved too fast for him to think in the moment, but he always understood in the end.

“You didn’t ask about Kacey,” Kara said, voice worn but not questioning.

He didn’t move, and neither did she. He didn’t answer either, because it still wasn’t a question. But he remembered Kacey, the little blonde child of a grateful mother, except Kara had said she needed to save _her_ daughter. And the two had left, and Sam and Kara had slept curled in the bunk that night, close but not quite touching. She hadn’t even been ready to kiss him.

“I was a stupid moron who believed a toaster when he said she was mine,” she murmured, both to him and to her.

Sam had learned, in that good year on New Caprica, that you waited for Kara Thrace. By the time she could tell you anything, you had either already figured it out or had given up ever needing to know. She didn’t answer questions that were asked, just talked around the ones that hid in the silences. But he knew her like that.

He felt her take a breath to say something else, but then she just sighed wearily and lay still. Drowsiness was already starting to take him, and if her breathing was anything to judge by, she was even closer to sleep. Her breaths steadied, became rhythmic, and he didn’t have to see her eyes to know that they were closed. He adjusted his arm just slightly, holding her gently, hand spread wide across her smooth back. He closed his eyes, then felt a twinge as a cool drop fell on his chest. A single tear from her exhausted sleeping eyes.

He didn’t think. He only felt that he needed to hold her so close that her broken heart wouldn’t fall to pieces. This had been for her pain and desire all at once, and he couldn’t feel frustrated at that. What she needed, he had given—and for now, that was what he needed too.

His eyes, still shut, felt even more wearily so. He took a last deep breath, feeling her weight rise and fall with his chest, and then let it all out slowly. Worn from too many things, not least the speed at which this had come upon him, he lost track of everything and fell asleep.

ooo

He couldn’t be too surprised when he woke and felt a draft, cold across his chest. Kara was gone, leaving nothing behind. He was still tired, but he had enough strength to reach for the blanket and pull it over himself.

Sighing, he leaned back, tucking one arm behind his head and resting the other across his chest where Kara had lain. He knew this. She wasn’t ready for anything else, wasn’t ready to talk to him if he might answer, wasn’t ready for the love that couldn’t help but creep into every thrust, kiss, and caress. He couldn’t help but love her, and she had hidden hers away too far to find. For now.

He fell back asleep, but didn’t dream of Kara.

Upon waking again, he dressed himself, and it was time to work again. There was no longer an emptiness where Kara had once been, only the stirrings of longings too deep to be sated with last night, or any night. He had filled Sam Anders’ role, was starting to be him again, and part of Sam Anders would always be Kara Thrace’s.

Sam Anders worked on the Salpica, ate by the stove, and listened to the workers talk of good times in old days. Kara wouldn’t be back, not tonight.

But he hoped someday she would. He felt she would.

Sam had forgotten how to curse the day he met Kara Thrace.


End file.
